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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639893">mama's gun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crud/pseuds/crud'>crud</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>how to be a human being [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Inspired by Music, Kissing, Love, M/M, Picnics, Staring, like 900 words of dnf being soft and loving each other, references to painting, specifically mama's gun by glass animals, there are no guns in this, they just think the other is so pretty, they love each other so much please, they r on a picnic date bc they are soft losers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:56:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crud/pseuds/crud</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>dream looked like he had been made for the sun, in george's opinion.</p><p>(can be read as a stand alone, the rest of the series does not add context)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>how to be a human being [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>135</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mama's gun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>im. i was upset and this has somehow become my comfort series so i wrote this &lt;3</p><p>as usual, if dnf ever say theyre uncomfortable with shipping i will take this down</p><p>please enjoy !! if you REALLY like it, check out the rest of the series ! they can all be read as stand alones :D agnes seems to be a favorite, so if you want a reccomendation, try that one !</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>George stared up at the sky, pale hand outstretched towards the sun, blocking out its glare, knowing he was far more likely to burn than he was to tan, and he’d rather it on his arm than his face anyway. He could feel the soft picnic blanket underneath him, a slight tug whenever he moved due to the weight of the picnic basket on it. He could feel the scratchy grass against his free arm, strewn haphazardly off the side of the blanket, and the feeling of soft due easing the rough texture of the grass as well as new bug bites on his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than any of that, though, George felt Dream’s eyes on him, heavy, soft, warm—too warm for this heat, surely. He was certain that Dream was watching him in the same way he always did– unaware that George knew, all too intimate, and full of awe that George had only just started getting used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely, George used to think, surely Dream would realize one day that George always knew when he was staring, that George just let him take those pictures because he knew it made Dream happy. Loving and romantic as Dream may be, he must not really believe it was his own photography skills that let him keep getting George’s good side, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never caught on, even once, in the three years of them dating, so George made a game of it. How convincingly could he pretend to catch Dream in the act? Because Dream always reacted so beautifully, always flushed dark red and pretended to have been doing something else, though they were both well aware of the truth, and this time was no exception.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head, red in the back of his eyelids thanks to the shine of the sun, and heard a soft inhale from behind him, a cut off sound that awfully resembled the beginning of George’s name, then whipped around to find Dream staring at him. This time, it took him a moment longer than usual to realize he’d been caught, phone up to snap a picture and everything, and his face flooded with a deep color George knew to be red and had grown very fond of in recent years as he dropped his phone to his lap and looked away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees and a smug grin teasing across his face. “What’re you looking at, Dream?” He watched as Dream swallowed, more than once, trying to regain his composure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Failing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing!” Dream smiled, ignoring the heated flush of red and pink on his face, ignoring the slight tremble in his voice. George didn’t, though. He stared, unabashed, leaned his face against his own palm. Dream really was gorgeous, especially in the light, in the heat of summer– it was like he was made for the sun, for the beams of light to come down specifically to highlight his beauty, to spark that which made him ethereal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was red, to George, which felt like a strange thing to say. George’s version of red, was what he was, what George described to people as red, that was Dream to him. Just then, he was illuminated by the sun’s rays of burning light, practically glowing. Embarrassed, flushed pink and scarlet and all those other shades painters swore by; carmine and crimson, carnation and rose. Yellow beams highlighting the sharpness of his features, the glass reflecting green off the bottom of his pants and legs, dirt painting his shoeless socks brown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George wished for the photography abilities to capture this moment, for a painting would take too long and it would surely pass. Perhaps the shades of red he had mentioned so he could later edit the photo to match the detail of Dream’s face exactly as it was now. He yearned to stay in this moment forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Dream started, surely looking for a way to change the topic, “what are you looking at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What else was George to do, but tell the truth? So he said: “You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And George wasn’t a religious man, not spiritual in the least, but the way Dream’s face filled with color at that made him wish he was, made him wish he knew what pantheon to pray to, to thank for such a generous gift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” Dream shrunk in on himself, eyes turned towards his lap. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George huffed a small, breathless laugh, moving to sit by Dream, to lift his chin and make eye contact. “Yeah? Who else?” And Dream surged towards him, dry, chapped lips pressing hard against George’s own briefly before pulling away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream didn’t continue, just leaned in to kiss him again, and George met him halfway, a hand already caressing Dream’s cheek as he felt one of Dream’s hands gently grab a hold of his wrist. Slowly, breathing together as their lips moved against each other’s, pulling away only when they were too out of breath to go any longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, George separated from Dream with one last peck, glanced at the picnic they had prepared. “You know… we still have to eat all this.” And Dream’s eyes narrowed at the basket and blanket, focused on George’s face, and he leaned forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quietly, breath hot against George’s mouth—“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It can wait a little longer</span>
  </em>
  <span>”—and they were together once more.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey !! i hope you enjoyed !! leave a kudos and/or a comment ??</p><p>i tend to give updates and ideas and drabbles and imagines on my twitter, so visit me @patroiocus if you wanna talk !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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